Snow crunched under his hurried steps as Xiu Zhao ran toward his roses — astonishingly, they remained untouched.
The warmth he had felt moments ago froze, just like the leaves around him.
He knelt before the flowers, their fragile stems swaying softly to the rhythm of the winter wind.
His gaze lingered on the petals that refused to let even a single snowflake rest upon them — they shimmered with a cold, crystalline light.
But the peace didn't last.
The voices he despised most began to crawl back into his mind, scraping against the walls of his thoughts.
"You're filthy, Xiu Zhao."
"Impure."
"Chen would never want something tainted by others."
"Chen doesn't deserve someone like you!"
"Filthy! Filthy, filthy!"
"He's going to abandon you!"
"You should have died!"
"Die! Die!"
"You're impure, Xiu Zhao. IMPURE!"
Xiu Zhao buried his head in his knees, clutching himself as if holding on to the last piece of his soul.
And once again, the darkness devoured him whole.
In that endless abyss, the voices echoed — chanting, mocking, laughing at his misery.
The shame he had buried so deeply rose from the black lake within him: the pointing fingers, the sneers, the cruel words he had tried to forget.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up…"
Like a broken note, he shouted, hands pressed tightly over his ears.
And then — within that suffocating void, where even the faintest light was swallowed like by a black hole — something flared.
A brilliant gold radiance burst forth.
Xiu Zhao lifted his head.
Before him, a golden light shimmered — alive, fierce, slicing through the dark like a divine blade.
A familiar warmth spread through his frozen body.
The hope that had long since withered inside him flickered once more — fragile, yet alive.
He rose, staggering, and ran toward the light.
Outside the darkness, the warmth grew stronger.
Lifting his face, his eyes found what called to him — his roses.
Vibrant, breathing, jeweled with dew and melting snow.
He wiped his tears and, for a fleeting moment, smiled.
"You're the reason I live…" he whispered, brushing a petal with trembling fingers. "Thank you."
He stood, shook the snow from his hair and cloak, and walked back toward the mansion.
Inside his chamber, he stripped off his heavy cloak and garments, letting them fall soundlessly onto the cold floor.
…
That night, Xiu Zhao appeared at dinner. He took his usual seat in silence.
"Are you feeling better?" Hua Xu asked softly, his voice laced with concern.
Xiu Zhao only nodded, pouring himself some tea and tasting a few of his favorite dishes.
Ling Xu opened her mouth to speak, but Hua Xu placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking his head.
He ate little and left the table early, returning to his room.
There, he lay down and drifted into a dreamless sleep — leaving the family wrapped in quiet worry.
The next morning, he emerged with the same cold, distant gaze.
He entered the living room as usual.
"How are you?" Ling Xu asked timidly.
"Fine."
"About yesterday—"
"I don't want to talk about yesterday."
His tone was calm, but sharp enough to cut through the air.
"I'm sorry, Xiu Zhao… I didn't know—"
"I've already forgiven you," he interrupted, voice heavy but soft. "I just needed some time alone."
"Thank you." She smiled in relief.
"Mhm."
Soon, Hua Xu entered, followed by servants carrying trays of food.
"Have you two made peace?" he asked, taking his seat.
"Yes!" Ling Xu said cheerfully.
"Good. Then let's eat."
The children exchanged smiles as they began their meal.
Xiu Zhao smiled, too — but his eyes remained distant.
A restlessness stirred within his chest, an old ache that no warmth could reach.
The darkness inside him still breathed.
Around him, everyone seemed radiant and real — and he, once again, rebuilt his mask.
The mask that had once shattered in tears now returned to his face, flawless and cold.
…
Later, in the library, Xiu Zhao sat surrounded by piles of ancient books and scrolls sent from the imperial court.
He read in silence, his fingers gliding over the worn pages.
"I shouldn't have made that proposal…" he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
"What are you reading?" came a soft voice.
He nearly jumped, almost dropping the book.
"How long have you been there?" he asked, his heart still racing.
"Since you started reading those," Ling Xu said, pointing at the nearby stack.
"So… for quite a while."
She nodded. He sighed.
"Let's take a break."
They stood and left the library together.
The corridor was long, lit only by faint lanterns.
They walked side by side, the silence between them light but fragile.
Then Ling Xu spoke.
"Xiu Zhao…"
"Hm?"
"When did your mother die?"
He stopped.
The echo of her words vanished into the dim corridor.
For a moment, only the whisper of the wind filled the silence.
"Almost three years ago," he said, voice void of emotion.
"How did she—"
"She was murdered."
The words were cold. Final.
No pain, no rage — only an endless, hollow calm.
Ling Xu lowered her head, regretting the question.
Without another word, he began walking again. She followed quietly.
They reached the garden and sat beneath the gazebo draped in withered flowers.
Silence lingered between them.
"And you?" he asked. "How did you end up here?"
"I ran away," she said, voice trembling.
"Why?"
Her fingers tightened around her skirt. She hesitated, then took a shaky breath.
"I lived in the demon realm with my family. We were poor. One day, my parents decided to sell me to a brothel… to pay our debts."
Her voice broke.
"My older brother… wouldn't allow it. He begged them over and over not to sell me. He always protected me."
A faint smile flickered on her lips.
"The day the buyer came, he told me to run. I didn't want to leave, but he insisted… hugged me and told me to go."
Tears welled in her eyes.
"I ran. I went down the mountains to the village and spent the night on the streets… until Hua Xu found me."
Xiu Zhao listened quietly, watching her face, her trembling hands, the sorrow beneath her words.
"And your brother?" he asked.
She looked away.
"I don't know. Maybe he has a family now… or maybe he's gone forever."
A heavy silence fell.
Xiu Zhao understood.
He, more than anyone, knew what it meant to lose someone — and still keep breathing.
Then, a cheerful voice shattered the melancholy.
"Good afternoon, everyone!"
It was Tian Min.
Ling Xu wiped her tears, smiling as she ran to embrace him.
"Min!" she cried, laughing through her tears.
They held each other too long, until Xiu Zhao cleared his throat pointedly.
Startled, Tian Min let her go.
Xiu Zhao raised an eyebrow.
"Are you two together?" he asked, teasingly.
Both of them blushed scarlet.
"So that's a yes?" he smirked. "Why not get married already, then?"
"And you? Why don't you marry?" Ling Xu shot back.
"I will," he said with quiet conviction.
"With whom?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Tian Min chuckled. "With his 'friend,' perhaps?"
Xiu Zhao's face turned crimson.
The two of them stared in disbelief — they had never seen him blush before.
"So it is a boy?" Ling Xu grinned.
"I—I didn't say that!" he protested, looking away.
"But you said you'd marry~" Tian Min teased.
"I—I… he…" Xiu Zhao stammered, red to the tips of his ears.
"It is a boy!" Ling Xu burst out laughing, doubling over.
Tian Min joined her, both laughing uncontrollably.
"I'll return to the library," Xiu Zhao said coldly, rising to his feet.
"You're just running away from the topic," Ling Xu whispered, crossing her arms.
"Stop teasing the boy" Tian Min muttered, still smiling.